Tamara Forge

Who am I without a friend?


It’s held between my fingers, dripping spit and grass and twig,

Then I look into my doggy’s eyes, so doey brown and big.


Who am I to say to him, “This ball is really rotten”?

When he rests his head upon my knee, my troubles are forgotten.


Who am I to say to him, “There’s paw prints on my bed”?

When it makes me feel so fuzzy, just to see him tilt his head.


Who am I to say to him, “Stop digging up that garden”?

If he found some treasures, we’d be sure to give him pardon.


Who am I at all, without my favourite furry friend? 

Even though he finds it fun to drive me round the barking bend.


Tamara Forge 2014